


Shakespeare Makes Us Do Crazy Things

by FletcherRose



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FletcherRose/pseuds/FletcherRose
Summary: Tom Hiddleston’s between jobs and back in London for his birthday. So the reader meets up with her friend to celebrate.





	Shakespeare Makes Us Do Crazy Things

I waited patiently on the side of the paving, watching pedestrians head this way and that, greet friends, say goodbye, stop suddenly for something on their phone. I had to smile to myself when I collected snippets of conversation;  
“There was no cheese…”  
“And they were roommates!”  
“Don’t believe it, pig hooves aren’t in that.”  
“Did you know there aren’t any calories in…”  
It was incredible and yet overwhelming to think of all the lives that happened around us that we’d never be privy to.  
My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I fished it out, leaning back against the shopfront behind me.  
5 away, see you soon x  
I smiled before locking it and dumping it in my bag.

I could hear him before I could see him.  
Well… not him, I could hear others.  
“Is that…” “Did you just see that?” “That was Tom Hiddleston!”  
And then there was the distinct sound of cameras, just a couple of snaps here and there, but it made my eyes roll nonetheless. I looked in the direction of the noise and found him, ten feet away, behind a slow walking, oblivious couple. He had his glasses on with his coat collar pulled high, but was still recognizable.

He gave me a smile before rolling his eyes dramatically at the two in front of him, making me chuckle.  
“Hey there!” I greeted when they finally passed.  
“Hey yourself,” He said, kissing both cheeks before wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leading me down the street towards the markets.  
“What an entrance,” I teased, jostling his side with the arm wrapped around his waist.  
“What can I say?” He said, raising an eyebrow and winking, the devilish grin making an appearance.  
“Still set on that turkey and brie?”  
“Yeah, but if you want-?”  
“No no, what the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.” I said, laughing when he oohed suggestively.

We wandered around the markets for a while, he stopped and signed autographs for a few younger girls as I picked up produce, mostly fruit and treats to snack on later, before we beelined for the little vendor who did the most amazing baguettes.  
“Hi you ‘right?” The woman greeted us both, “We’ve got turkey and cranberry, brie’s extra, or we’ve got the veggie option, we’ve run out of beef for now.” She explained, waving tongs over the options.  
“I’ll have the half with turkey and added brie,” I answered as Tom offered me first serve.  
“And another, please.” Tom said, watching as she loaded half baguettes with thinly shaved turkey meat, fresh cranberry sauce and half melted brie cheese.  
“Lovely, that’ll be thirteen,” The lady said with a smile, handing the sandwiches to Tom as I made a fuss of waving his money away and insisting on paying.  
“It’s your birthday, you’re not paying for anything.” I assured, handing over thirteen pounds and thanking her.  
“I should’ve got a full then,” Tom joked, handing me my baguette.  
“Too late now.” I teased, nudging him with my shoulder, “Where to?”  
“Shall we walk bankside towards the globe?” He asked, chuckling when I shrugged as I bit into my lunch, “Like that is it?” He laughed.  
“Lea the way, birfday boy,” I mumbled through a mouthful.

We’d finished our baguettes by the time we got to the front of the Globe Theatre, and sat on the river wall, looking up at the white, round building, eating the cherries I’d bought earlier.  
“Can you imagine being around when she would be packed out and the plays were brand new and never before heard of?” Tom asked, reaching into the paper bag for another cherry.  
“Would you have wanted to be an actor for William or a member of the audience?” I asked, turning to sit facing him, spitting a pip into my hand.  
There was silence from Tom for a while as he thought. His hair was the curliest I’d seen it yet, golden brown in the glare of the grey sky, the faint wrinkles by his eyes unhidden by his glasses.  
“That’s tough, cause both would’ve been extraordinary.” He mused.  
“I imagine you’d make a wonderful Ophelia.” I joked, getting a laugh from him.  
“Thanks,”  
“Shall we see if there’s anything on today?” I asked, standing and pushing the now half empty bag of cherries into my coat pocket.  
“Sure,” He said, following as I lead the way through the gates and towards the box office.

“Hi there,” I said, gaining the attention of the woman behind the desk who’d been facing the other way.  
“Oh hi, sorry,” She greeted.  
“No bother, just wondering if there’s anything on today?” I smiled at Tom, missing the wide eyed look she’d given him, spluttering before turning to the computer.  
“Not today, sorry, we’re currently setting up for Macbeth starting next week.” She explained apologetically.  
“That’s okay, no harm in asking,” I said with a smile, turning to Tom.  
“Actually, I’m sorry to be a pain, is anyone in there at the minute? We wouldn’t be able to have a sneaky tour would we?” He asked, shocking me. He never normally used his status as a celebrity to get anything; he insisted on paying for anything when it was offered as free, he would enquire but not push, and he most definitely didn’t smile bashfully and coax anyone into giving him a tour.  
“Okay, I’ll see if John’s about.” She said, reaching for the radio by her computer screen.

“And this is where magic happens,” our temporary guide said, extending his arm to the stage.  
We’d only been shown in through the front doors, no behind the scenes tour. Just a quick in and out was all that could be conjured.  
“May I?” Tom asked, gesturing to the stage.  
“Fine,” John relented, “Just don’t go backstage.” He checked his watch and looked back at the door.  
“I promise we will stay right here, I just need to get something out of my system, so if you need to leave…” Tom said, forgetting the stage and offering his hand for the man to shake.  
“Alright, but Rosie will be in if you’re not out in ten minutes.” He warned, shaking Tom’s hand then mine and hurrying out the way he’d shown us in.  
“Get something out of your system?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow at Tom as he headed straight for the stage and jumped up onto it.  
“Haven’t you ever dreamed of performing Shakespeare on this very stage?” He asked, offering a hand to bring me up onto the stage with him.  
I sighed and relented, climbing onto the stage with him and turning to look at the circle of seats that encompassed the stage, the standing area in front and the rise of the seats.

“All the world’s a stage,” I muttered, a faint smile on my face as I let myself imagine the days of old when Shakespeare would watch from backstage as he entrusted his play to actors like Tom and maybe myself. “And all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances…” I recited, remembering studying his verses many years ago.  
“And one man in his time plays many parts,” Tom chimed in behind me. I glanced over at him and laughed, “Funny to think that this, well not here, but just down the road, in a theatre just like this, heard those lines for the first time.”  
“And then to think that Romeo and Juliet was performed by two men, one dressed as a woman.” I added.  
“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” Tom quoted, gesticulating to the imaginary audience, turning his cheeky smile on me.  
“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,” I began, surprising him, “Which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.” I held my hand up, palm facing him, acting out the scene.  
“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?” Tom crossed the stage in measured strides and pressed his hand to mine, palm meeting palm.  
“Aye, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.” I watched as his eyes flickered to my lips, smiling at how silly we were being, but too lost in this dreamlike scene we found ourselves playing out.  
“Oh, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” His free hand moved towards my waist, trying to pull me close, but like in any scene I’d seen, I turned away from him, out of his reach.  
“Saints do not mo-” I began to say my line but his fingers circled around my arm, spinning me back to him. I squealed as I crashed into his chest, fingers splayed over his hammering heart, or was that my pulse in my fingers. His stare was intense, the blue of his iris gleaming against the grey clouds overhead. “Move, though grant for prayers’ sake.” I managed, swallowing hard.  
“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.” He whispered, leaning forward and meeting my lips in a gentle kiss.

A door creaked and Tom and I split apart like teenagers wary of parents.  
“You two still in here?” John asked, his head peering in from the cracked barn door across from us.  
“Sorry, just leaving now.” Tom answered, glancing back at me as he jumped down off the stage.


End file.
